


The Inevitable Fulcrum Explosion

by Alpacalama



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types
Genre: Bar fights, M/M, Summary is shit, based off of a tumblr post, cuz i suck @ fight scenes, fulcrum goes ape shit, he loves his pillows, its vague tho, no beta we die like men, very vague smexy times
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-06
Updated: 2019-09-06
Packaged: 2020-10-11 06:15:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,059
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20541437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alpacalama/pseuds/Alpacalama
Summary: Really, all Fulcrum wants at this point is to grab some warm energon, sit at his desk and work until his cortex ached. Of course, none of these things happen and all the worst things happen.





	The Inevitable Fulcrum Explosion

THE INEVITABLE FULCRUM EXPLOSION

_ Drip. _

_ Drip. _

_ Drip drip. _

_ ... _

_ Drip. _

The coolant was leaking again. This wouldn’t bother Fulcrum as much as it currently was if it wasn’t for the fact that it leaked right onto his work desk. Datapads were rare, and pricey to maintain and charge, so he was forced to resort to more  _ primitive _ methods of taking notes.

He rubbed his nasal ridge in frustration before grabbing the papers and clipping them to a string he had strung up in one corner of the room specifically so the notes could dry off.

He sat back down in his chair and glared irritatedly up at the leak. His optics narrowed and he leaned forward, craning his neck to get a better angle.  _ Maybe if I just twisted the pipe slightly, or used some nanite gel to plug the leak-  _

_ Drip. _

He jerked back, hands going to his optics as he tried to rub the coolant away. He stood up and stepped away from his desk, hands still trying to clean his optics. Stumbling, he found his way to the berth he occupied, on the left side of the room. He opened his optics, tinged red from the irritation, and glared at the pipe. He grumbled to himself and grabbed his pillow, winding his arm back to throw it at the source of his ire. 

His arm hung in the air awkwardly as he stopped himself.  _ That’s not going to make you feel better. You’re just going to have to clean up a mess.  _ He let out a long and truly grumpy groan before violently throwing the pillow back into its position at the head of his berth. With a huff he rolled onto his side and transformed into his alt-mode. Hopefully no-one would talk to him then.

He awoke in the middle of the night with a gasp, metaphorical optics wide and his spark thrumming madly against it’s casing. His survival instincts told him to transform and book it like Megatron himself was after his helm. 

They screamed at him and almost sent him right back into a panic-induced stasis. Despite this, he held perfectly still and tried not to make a noise as he assessed the situation.  _ Oh Primus, something has me trapped.  _ His processor raced as it spat horrifying scenarios at him.  _ Aliens have hi-jacked the ship and I’m about to be eaten by one. I’m trapped in a machine that’s about to harvest me. Whatever has me won’t ever move and I’m gonna starve and eventually turn to stone. _

It was when he heard a familiar groan that he finally clued into was what wrapped around him, “ _ Misfire?! _ ” If Fulcrum were in his root-mode, he would’ve slammed his helm down against the berth a few times, and then probably pushed Misfire off of him. Alas, he was in his alt-mode and all he could really do was flip his fin assemblies back and forth angrily. He wanted to transform so badly, but he knew that there was the risk of his plating getting caught with Misfire’s at such a close proximity.

He rocked back and forth as much as he could, trying to dislodge the berth-invader, “Misfire!  _ Misfire! _ ” He moved all that he could, rocking back and forth, flipping his fins, spinning his rotating bands,  _ anything _ . 

Eventually, thank Primus, the jet woke up, “Wha’ wassit? What’s happenin’?” Fulcrum continued to move around angrily, “ _ Get off me! _ ” He shrieked. Misfire blinked a few times before he seemed to finally register the demand. Slowly, he untangled his limbs from the angry bomb and got off the berth. The moment he was off the berth Fulcrum transformed at speeds that even amazed himself. He grabbed his pillow and held it to his chest as he sat on the edge of the berth, “ _ What do you think you’re doing?! _ ” His voice was still a shriek, he realised. He swallowed and cleared his throat before he went back to glaring at the offender.

Said offender had the audacity to look confused, “I was… recharging?” Fulcrum shook the pillow in the distance between him and the jet with one hand, “No you weren’t!” A slow helm tilt, “I... wasn’t?” The pillow got shook a lot more aggressively, “You were trying to smother me!”

Misfire looked really confused now, Fulcrum could picture steam coming out of his helm from all the thinking -or lack thereof- the jet was doing, “Can we just go back to the berth? It’s cold.” Fulcrum paused, taking that in. Misfire was right (a miracle), the coolant that had been tormenting him for ages had frozen into a sad looking icicle, and he could see frost flakes floating around lazily in the space of their shared room. Misfire made a pitiful face, and gestured towards the berth with a hand. 

Fulcrum, with one last look at the shivering pink wings in front of him, huffed and flopped onto his berth. He reached over his side to chuck the pillow at the jet before promptly transforming. His outer armor was strong and reinforced, meant to withstand small collisions and stray blaster fire before he could detonate his payload. Morbid, but convenient for when he didn’t want to deal with outer sensation. 

His alt-mode also allowed him to generate heat as he resided inside of it. It was roomy since the payload had been removed. Krok had a ban on transforming inside the ship, but what Krok didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

With a few angry flips of his fins, he rolled (an easy task in his alt-mode) over and made room for the still confused Misfire, “Well?” He couldn’t really ‘see’ when he wasn’t in root mode, but he had collision sensors all along his body that gave him a pretty good idea of what was happening around him. Even then, he didn’t need his sensors to know that Misfire was giving him a stupid, dopey smile.  _ Whatever, just go to sleep and then you don’t have to think about anything. _ His fins gave another irritated flap, just so Misfire didn’t get any ideas, and then tried his best to fall asleep. 

_ I’m just doing this so that he doesn’t complain in the morning and get shot by Crankcase.  _ He couldn’t even convince himself that that wasn’t a lie.

The icicle was bigger, and the ship was still freezing. Misfire was still clinging to him and leeching his heat. All in all, everything was absolutely amazingly fantastic. 

He couldn’t do much about the coolant, but he could dislodge the tool named Misfire. Still sleepy, he didn’t really have the energy to do much except roll around and shift his kibble as much as possible. It took longer, since he wasn’t being as disruptive as last night, but Misfire eventually woke up and yawned. 

He must’ve picked up on the K-Classers mood, because he paused mid-stretched and turned to look at the bomb, “What?” 

No longer sleepy, Fulcrum remembered that he was in a bad mood. Everything slotted back into the same places they had been yesterday, and he made some disgruntled noises. He felt alive with tension, he wanted to scream, he wanted to grit his dentas together, he wanted to flip tables and smash things.

He knew he was overreacting, Misfire had just wanted to be warm and had found an easy solution, but all he wanted was to sit at his desk with some warm energon and work on projects until his cortex ached. He didn’t want to deal with all the things the universe kept throwing at him. 

In the end, he didn’t do any of the disruptive things he wanted to do, he simply ‘whapped’ one of his fins over and over on Misfires leg, “Some of us have stuff to do. I need to transform.” Misfire scooted to the edge of the berth, absentmindedly scratching his face plating. Fulcrum transformed and was out of the room in an instant, trying to ignore the way his plating was comfortably warm from where Misfire had been cuddling him.

_ Energon. Warm energon and my work. Bad mood won’t stand a chance.  _ The plan he had was foolproof; go to the commons, get energon to have now, get energon to have later, hole up in his lab for the rest of the cycle, avoid everyone, be content. Perfect.

“We’re docking at the Bhozon Station to refuel the ship with decent fuel and restock supplies.” Fulcrum dropped his energon (thankfully still sealed). He managed to fumble it between his hands for a moment then set it down on a nearby table before he turned to Krok, “I thought we were gonna stop at Nomia NX2?” Krok nodded, “We were, but Crankcase says that a quildrux migration has just started, and we’d either have to detour, but doing that means we’d lose more fuel in the long run,” Krok paused to shove a finger in between his armour plates, “ _ Fraggin’ dirt _ ,” 

“Anyways, we could either do that or go through the migration and risk getting liquified so our best option is to forgo the planet and stop at the nearest neutral station.” Fulcrum nodded, he couldn’t argue that logic, but that didn’t mean he had to like it. He opened his energon quietly as Krok continued to attack the seams of his armour plates. Eventually, the Captain managed to scrape out most of the dirt. He looked up and seemed surprised to see that Fulcrum was still there.

Fulcrum was surprised that he was still there too. He blinked a few times, feeling very much like how he imagined Misfire felt most of the time, “Uh,” He blinked a few more times, “When will we dock?” Krok was blinking too, “... A standard cycle? Was there... something you needed?”

Fulcrum shook his helm, hoping he looked like he had his slag together, “No. I’ll be, I’ll be going now.”

In his rush to get out of the commons, Fulcrum had forgotten to grab the extra energon he wanted for the cycle. Now he was hungry on top of grumpy. He could’ve just gone back to the dispenser and grabbed some, but Misfire had holed up there to clean some of the equipment from the med-bay. He tried not to think about it, but he also wasn’t going back because he was afraid he’d have another weird encounter with Krok and his oddly soothing armour-seam cleaning. 

It was midday, and his tank kept gurgling angrily. His HUD kept sending him notifications that his energy levels were lowering, but he stubbornly ignored them. His processor was on something else. A while ago, the crew had made a fuel stop at Drorth 67KT, a stupid jungle planet that housed a few abandoned Autobot bases. He had tried to stay on the ship, but Krok had put the buddy system in place which stuck him with Misfire. Unfortunately, Misfire had no qualms with exploring the jungle and getting all sorts of organic filth clogged in his gears and stuck in his seams.

While exploring and on the lookout for any bases, the two had struck up an argument about the pros and cons about organics. Fulcrum was unsurprisingly all for the cons, pun not intended, “Do you know how much excrement you’re rolling around in right now?” Fulcrum scowled at the jet from his spot on the mossy floor, “It’s disgusting and you’re disgusting.” 

Misfire had shrugged with wide optics, “It’s so soft! Don’t be such a loser and come down here and feel it!” Fulcrum was  _ not  _ a loser and would  _ not  _ be coming down there to feel the moss.

Misfire had chosen this spot to refuel, which suited Fulcrum just fine because it meant that he could sit atop a cluster of relatively flat rocks, away from the organic fauna and creatures. It also provided him with an excellent perch a good few meters above Misfires helm.

“You’re getting all types of stuff on you.” Misfire gave him a slag-eating grin, “So? I’ll just take a shower and get you to help me.” Fulcrum opened his mouth to complain but he was cut-off, “You can’t argue our showers are fun.” He wiggled his brow-plates up and down rapidly and wore a wide smile. Fulcrum slowly closed his mouth. It pained him to admit it, but their showers really  _ were  _ fun.

Misfire went back to rolling in the moss and the technician quickly pressed a hand to his face to make sure he wasn’t blushing, he didn’t want to give Misfire any more ammunition, “Whatever. Lets refuel and then get out of here.” He took two cubes out of his subspace and chucked one at the jet. He hid a grin in his cube as Misfire let out a squawk when the cube hit him.

“I’m not going in there.” Fulcrum scowled and crossed his arms. Misfire gave an exaggerated shrug, “What if there’s monsters?” He pointedly looked away from the jets pouting face, “My point exactly. You have your blaster.” Misfire gave him a look that he saw out of the corner of his vision, “You do know why I’m called ‘Misfire’, right?” Fulcrum groaned and whirled to face the jet, placing his hands on either side of his helm. He looked into the red optics, “Yes. I do. Listen,” He shook Misfires helm a little to get his point across, “There’s probably nothing in there, but if there is, you are literally a jet and this place lost its roof a long time ago.”

He let go of the slightly stunned Decepticon and pushed him towards the entrance, “Go. Use your comms if you really need to.” Still stunned, Misfire walked towards the building, gait shaky. Once he was out of sight, Fulcrum let out a sigh and tried to drain the tension from his frame, “I’m holding you to that shower.”

It’d been a while, but Misfire had regularly been checking in with Fulcrum to give him updates so he wasn’t too worried that the jet was in danger. He had cleaned off a broken piece of wall to sit on, and was idly playing with the blaster he previously had in his subspace. He was by no means a good shot, but it was comforting to have it.

He looked around him, trying to see why Misfire didn’t seem to mind the jungle. Everything was shaded from red to pink to orange and it was all wet or squishy or some other disgusting organic quality. At least K45-JWF had been composed of mainly rock and metal alloy. This place was just,  _ bleugh _ .

Something rustled next to him and he sucked in a sharp inhale -too scared to make noise- and fell off the piece of wall, blaster pointed at whatever made the noise. He tried to calm his venting, but his frame wouldn’t cooperate with him as it seemed intent on going straight into panic mode.

Slowly, whatever made the noise, rose out of the long grass. Fulcrum squinted to check if he was seeing correctly. When that didn’t change his vision, he reset his optics. It was still there. ‘It’ could best be described as a fat, long, orange tube. The description didn’t do it any justice, but Fulcrum really had no clue what he was looking at. It looked like a universal-common ‘snake’ if the snake had eaten its weight in food twenty times over.

It blinked its eyes at him, and slowly made its way over, forked tongue flicking out rapidly. Fulcrum waved the blaster at it, “S-stay away!” It didn’t. Fulcrum backed up until his back hit the wall of the building. The thing kept coming towards him until it was right at his pedes. Fulcrum could very well be looking death in the eyes right now for all he knew. It flicked its tongue out a few more times before it seemingly came to a conclusion. 

Fulcrum whimpered as it approached him, sliding its rotund body onto his pedes. He closed his optics and awaited the end. When nothing happened he dared to peek at the creature. The sight, well, it really confused him. 

‘Chunky’, as Fulcrum had dubbed it, had curled up into a pile of limb on his pedes. Its eyes were closed and it purred ever so slightly, “ _ Oh my Primus _ .” He whispered rapidly. He looked around frantically, hoping to spot something that might help him. He had his blaster, but the skin on Chunky looked really tough and he didn’t want to attempt to shoot it only to make it angry. He looked around for a few more moments before letting his helm fall back against the wall. He hit it against the wall a few times.

Carefully, he nudged the blaster underneath Chunky. Once the blaster was relatively underneath it, Fulcrum sent a quick prayer to Primus before he flipped the creature off of him entirely. Immediately he sprung to his pedes and put distance between him and it. Chunky had flared out multiple turquoise hoods that ridged along its body. Fulcrum pointed the blaster at it, ready to pull the trigger, when surprisingly the creature slowly flattened its hoods and looked at him.

He would never admit that it was cute, but Chunky tilted its slightly angular face to the side and chirped at him. “ _ Frag, _ ” He slowly lowered the blaster. He hopped back and forth on his pedes, wondering what in the pit he was doing, “This had better not be some trick.” He kept the blaster out, but let it hang at his side as he slowly approached Chunky, “Am I warm? That why you decided to lie down on me?” Chunky didn’t reply, which didn’t really surprise anyone. “I know another jerk that likes to leech heat off of me.” He was a few feet away from it when he stopped walking, “You’re really fragging ugly,” He glared at it, “I hate you,” A pause, “But you’re not the worst.”

This was going to bite him in the aft, but he was in a slightly good mood and maybe he had inhaled something on this planet that messed with his decision making abilities but he extended a hand. Chunky peered at it and flicked its tongue out a few more times. Fulcrum was about to snatch his hand back and walk back to the WAP, Misfire be damned, but a tentative touch made him pause. Chunky had his -Fulcrum was guessing at this point- snout ever so slightly pressed against the tip of his finger.

Fulcrum closed his optics, “Ok. Maybe you’re the one thing about this planet that isn’t one hundred percent repulsive and purge-worthy.” He smiled slightly, and crooked a finger to give Chunky a scratch when he was given the scare of his life, 

[[Hey Loser!]] Misfires voice yelled right into his processor and Fulcrum screamed in return as he jerked back and fell on his back plates. It took him a moment to realise that there was no immediate threat, and it took him another moment to get his venting under control. He sat up and looked at the spot where Chunky had been. He couldn’t really place the emotion he was feeling, but it made him uncomfortable. He sat up and pawed at his back to get rid of moss and rocks sticking to it. 

There was a rock lodged right in the middle of his back, right in the spot that he could never reach, but he figured he’d get it out somehow later.

[[Hellooooo? Did you get eaten or something?]] Fulcrum sighed, [[No Misfire, I didn’t. What is it?]] [[I found some energon! There’s not that much but just enough to make someone go, ‘Hey! There’s energon here!’]] Standing up, Fulcrums face went through a variety of expressions, [[Great. Grab it and let’s go. I’m sick of this planet.]] 

[[Ooh! Someone better tell Crankcase that he’s been replaced as resident grump!]] Fulcrum scratched at his back, hoping to maybe catch that one rock, [[I’m heading back.]] He even used the nozzle of his blaster to try and get the rock, but that didn’t really do much.

Fulcrum let out a frustrated noise as he rubbed his back plating against the wall of his room like an animal. The stupid jungle planet had been a few weeks ago, but the  _ fragging rock was still there _ . He could usually ignore it, but  _ it was there and it was RIGHT THERE AND WOULDN’T GET OUT _ . He would  _ not  _ go to another member of the crew because they would ask him how he got a rock in between his back plating and he’d have to tell them that he fell on the ground and then they would ask why he fell and then he’d have to tell them that he got friendly with an  _ organic  _ which everyone knows he hates and-

“AGH!” He jumped in his berth and screamed into his pillow. It didn’t help, but it was fun. After he was out of breath from pillow-screaming, he rolled onto his back and glared up at the ceiling. Misfire poked his head in through the doorway which he had opened, “Everything alright? You kinda sound like you’re offlining.” Fulcrum waved his hand vaguely and grunted. Misfire nodded with a sage look like he understood completely, “I understand completely.” 

Fulcrum gave him a skeptical look, “You do?” Misfire nodded, “I do.” Fulcrum rolled his optics, “Sure. Can you leave me al-OOF!” Misfire laughed from his position lying on top of Fulcrum, “Since we’re docking soon I think I’m gonna clean up,” He walked two fingers up Fulcrums chassis, “Annnnd we only have so much cleaner so I think it’d be better if we showered together,” He gave the techie a sly look, “Y’know, save some for the others. Krok would be proud of me.”

Fulcrum squinted and debated with himself. He really needed to work, and he was really hungry, but Misfire  _ would  _ be a nice distraction and might help his mood improve. He made a face of agreement and patted Misfires cheek, “You’re gonna make Krok so proud.”

Later, with Misfire pinned between him and the shower wall, he hoped that the piece of rock would hopefully come free from all of the ‘showering’ he was doing.

It didn’t.

“We shouldn’t be on Bhozon for too long, but fuel up before we go.” Krok subspaced his rifle -you never knew what could happen- and turned to the cockpit where Crankcase was, “ETA?” The pilots voice rang out down the metal hallway as he replied, “A breem!” Krok looked at the rest of the crew that would be going; Misfire, Spinister, and Fulcrum, “You heard him.” 

Fulcrum headed over to the dispenser and started filling a cube. He was halfway through filling the cube when he paused, “Hey, this wasn’t this empty two solar cycles ago. We shouldn’t be going through this much energon.” Krok shook his head, “We’re not going through at faster than calculated, Crankcase just has a bunch stored in the cockpit.”

Fulcrum frowned, “Why?” “He needs the fuel up there since he has to pilot. Can’t come down here too often.” Fulcrum looked back at the dispenser and did the math in his head quickly, “But, but he doesn’t even need the amount that he has! He’s not even that big!” Krok raised an eyebrow-ridge, “Take it up with him them.” They both knew he wouldn’t be doing that.

Grumbling, he sat down and fueled up like a good Decepticon.

Thankfully, the station was mainly non-organic and even had a small cybertronian community. Krok would be heading to the fringes of said community to find the mech selling them the fuel. This left Crankcase acting as pilot and babysitter of Grimlock while the rest of them were left to meander the merchant district.

“I wanna see if I can find some good oil. My transformation seams are  _ itchy! _ ” Spinister turned to Misfire, “Let me take a look at it.” Misfire paled, everyone remembered the last time Spinister offered to ‘take a look’ at something, “You know what, I think I’m gonna try the oil first.” Spinister shrugged, and continued to take in his surroundings.

Conversation between the three of them lulled as they reached the tents and stalls selling items and food and anything you could get your hands on. Fulcrum bought a few useful tools he could use for his projects and for maintaining the WAP. He didn’t pay attention to what Spinister bought, instead observing as Misfire heckled over the price of some oil.

Eventually, once Misfire had the oil, they all moved on further into the district. A flashy advertisement to his left caught his optic, and Fulcrum walked over to the tent. He looked at the vendor, “Do you really have the _30.5.14_ _Altstractor Optic Mod_?” The mech nodded, “Yeah, sometimes he releases some of his side projects for some spare shanix.” Fulcrum shook his helm, “I can’t believe that _this _is a side project. It’s so complicated.” He received a shrug, “The mech’s a real whiz with mod building, what can I say?” 

Fulcrum nodded in agreement, “Ok, how much is it?” “400 shanix. Or 1120 units if that’s what you dig.” He felt his optics bulge wide, “ _ 400?! _ ” The vendor shrugged again, “Like I said, he’s a tech whiz and you have to pay good for that type of quality.” “W- but that’s so expensive!”

“Listen, the price isn’t changing. If it gets back to Altstractor that I’m sold his stuff at a low price he’ll be pissed and I don’t wanna deal with that.” He opened his mouth but didn’t get the chance to say anything as he was grabbed by his arm and dragged away, “Hey! Let me go!” Spinister leaned down to him as he dragged him away, “We could just kill him and have everything for free.” “What, no!” He was finally released. The surgeon just tilted his head, “Eh, if you say so.”

As he continued to walk, Fulcrum closed his optics and let out a long breath. If Grimlock suddenly got his memories back and chose to go on a Decepticon killing spree, Fulcrum probably wouldn’t try very hard to hide. The moment he was back on the WAP, he was taking a nap that would last a deca-cycle. Not even that- that  _ vixen  _ Misfire would be able to lure him out of his nap.

“So I really think #f55182 would be a good colour on me. I dig what I have right now, but I’m looking to shake it up a little.” Fulcrum sighed, “Misfire, that colour is hardly any different to the one you have right now.” The jet let out a scandalised gasp and clutched the paint strip to his chassis. Fulcrum just rolled his optics and went back to idly flicking through colour strips.

“Hey Loser!” Fulcrum turned to look at the jet. Said jet shoved a handful of paint strips into his hands the moment he turned, “You should get a re-paint! You could go with,” He peered at the name of one of the strips, “#d18a8a! Or, or uh, #295e3c! You’d look like a pine tree!” He paused, “I actually have no clue what a pine tree is.” While the jet turned to the vendor to pester her about pine trees, Fulcrum tried not to breakdown.

He had no issues with mechs getting re-painted, but when it came to his frame he had problems. He wasn’t always tan and orange, his re-formatting had also came with a free re-painting. He wasn’t particularly attached to his old colour-scheme, but it had been taken from him against his will. 

The topic of repainting his frame poked a lot of tender areas that he was more than comfortable leaving alone. Misfire held a strip up to his face, muttering to himself. Fulcrum dodged the paper trying to poke out his optic and snarled at the jet, “I’m not going to repaint myself. Frag off.” He shoved the paint strips Misfire had gave him back into the jets arms. He stormed off in the direction of where he last saw Spinister.

“Hey! What’d I do?” Fulcrum threw his hands up and sped up his pace. He ignored the jet, reaching back to scratch at the rock stuck in between his plating. “Hey, stop walking so fast!” Fulcrum heard a ‘fwoom’ and then Misfire landed in front of him, thrusters cooling off. The jet huffed in a breath, “What’s, what’s wrong?” 

Fulcrum pursed his lips, “I’m in a bit of a bad mood.” Misfire rolled his optics, “Duh! I mean, like, what’d I do? Was it earlier? You know how I did the thing with my mouth where I go dow- hey!” 

_ He doesn’t exist. You have a virus that’s making you have auditory hallucinations. Ignore it and it’ll go away. La la la la la la la.  _ “Can you even hear me?” Fulcrum ignored Misfire with all he had. Even if the jet waved a hand in his face, or poked him on his kibble, or made faces and noises to get his attention. Which he was. 

“Spinister!” Fulcrum waved a hand at the tall mech once he caught sight of him. The trigger-happy mech turned around at his name, and started walking over. Fulcrum reached him easily, the crowd parted for the both of them; Fulcrum because of his angry scowl and Spinister because of his intimidating frame.

“Any word from Krok?” Spinister nodded. Fulcrum stared at his expectantly, and even Misfire paused in his pestering to give the helicopter a look. The technician did some breathing exercises while the trio stood there. After a moment of him doing that, Misfire looking lost and Spinister looking at nowhere in particular, Fulcrum felt that he was safe to open his mouth and not scream, “What did he say?”

“Oh, he found the vendor. Wants to meet us in a bar nearby. S’called ‘Lucky's Dives.’” Fulcrum clapped his hands together, “Great! Let’s go!”

They walked in and immediately spotted Krok and the vendor. Krok wasn’t a mech that particularly stood out, this fact often worked in their favour, but next to the vendor he looked even more plain. The vendor looked more like a walking paint explosion and less like a mech.

Krok looked over in their direction, and waved them over. Fulcrum commed him after a moment and asked in a clipped tone, [[It good if I sit at the bar for a bit?]] The monoformer raised an eyebrow ridge, but nodded and turned back to the vendor. With a sigh of relief, Fulcrum walked over to the bar and sat down heavily. 

A low voice spoke up from the other side of the bar, “What’s wrong hun? You look like someone just announced the war’s back on.” A purple and tan minibot glanced at him as she cleaned out a cup. Fulcrum rested his chin on his fist, “Why'd you ask? You don’t care.” The minibot put the cup down and grabbed a tumbler, “You’re right I don’t, but I gotta know if you’re gonna buy something or be a seat warmer for the rest of the evening.”

She poured something red and glowing into the tumbler and gave it a good shake. Once she was done she poured it into a tall glass and added a couple of jellied energon cubes, “I’m Lucky. I own this joint,” She slid the drink over, “Have one on me. You look like you need it bad.” She had a visor instead of optics, but Fulcrum got the feeling that she was winking at him. He sat there and drank from his glass for a bit until Lucky spoke up again, “You with those other clowns? They’re not among my regulars.” She gestured to Krok and the others. Fulcrum nodded after a moment, “The one that looks like a sparkling painting ain’t part of our crew.”

She nodded, “Yeah I know ‘im. Real pain in the aft. Pretty sure he’s called Tesseract or something. Me’n my conjunx just call him ‘Aftface.’” Her helm tilted, a common sign of someone receiving a comm, “I’m wanted upstairs. Have fun with my conjunx, they’ll be replacing me down here.” Fulcrum nodded and resigned himself to having to make awkward small talk.

What seemed to be another minibot (but at a second glance revealed to just be a vertically challenged cybertronian) this one red, gold and dark brown, walked behind the bar, barely giving Fulcrum a glance. He made a face, but ultimately decided to ‘look a gift horse in the mouth’, if that was the proper saying. He sat there and sipped at his drink for a good amount of time, all the while keeping on optic on Krok and the crew.

Once his drink was empty, he looked at the bartender, “Hey, could I get another one of these?” He paused, “I’m Fulcrum.” They nodded and grabbed a tumbler, “Echo. Don’t cause any fights.” They shook the tumbler and prepared the drink, as Lucky had previously, “House rule is if you get knocked out in a fight anymech’s free to pilfer your subspace and units.” The drink was slid over, but remained in Echo’s hand. They had a face mask obscuring the top half of their face, but the intense look they gave him was just as effective as if they had the mask retracted. “Enjoy.” Fulcrum nodded hesitantly, “Thanks.” Once his drink was done, he headed over to the table.

He pulled out a chair next to Misfire (a mistake his slightly overcharged processor didn’t recognize), when Aftface spoke up angrily, “Hey buymech! None of us bought you so go sit somewhere else, toots!” Fulcrum rose from the chair (slightly shaky but no-one said anything), “‘ _ Toots? _ ’ Listen here-” 

Krok slapped his hand over Fulcrums intake before he could really get into it, “He’s with us. Don’t worry he’s used to getting mistaken for a buymech.”

Fulcrum certainly  _ wasn’t  _ used to being mistaken for a buymech, but the comment seemed to placate the vendor, who shrugged, “Yeah, sure. Anyway, are you sure you wouldn’t like tenzuns oil? The kraevrots fuel you’re looking at could potentially speed up scum accumulation…”

At some point, Fulcrum had stopped paying attention to the conversation, and was trying to ignore the existence of everything. He grabbed a simple enjex cube off the tray of a nearby waiter when they weren’t paying attention. He was a coward but he was a decepticon first and he wasn’t afraid to cheat some chump out of a few shanix.

“ _ Psst _ . Hey Loser.” Fulcrum continued to sip at his cube, ignoring the jet like his life depended on it. Misfire wasn’t swayed, “Hey. You still ignoring me?” The techie crossed his arms and hissed out the side of his mouth, “ _ Yes. _ ” 

“That doesn’t make sense. You just answered me. So… you’re not ignoring me?” The cube was a third of the way empty, which Fulcrum would be impressed by at a later time. Misfire poked him in the side, and the tech congratulated himself on not flinching, “So why are you not-ignoring me?” 

He continued drinking, even when the pestering turned to repetitive pokes in the side, “Poke. Poke. Poke poke. Poke poke poke poke poke.” The cube was empty, and some distant part of Fulcrum’s processor realised that he was overcharged. He wasn’t a lightweight, but he probably should’ve looked at what was in the red drinks he had gotten from the bar.

He finally found his limit when Misfire got out of his seat and promptly tried to find it in his lap. He stood up, causing Misfire to fall to the ground, “What is your  _ problem?  _ I just want to sit and drink in  _ peace and quiet!  _ A concept that you apparently don’t understand!” He turned away from the hurt pair of optics.

“Hey sweetspark, if you want to sit and drink in peace and quiet, why don’t you come over here?” Fulcrum looked at Aftface to see him pat his thighs, “Infact, why don’t you spend a few groons at my habsuite too?”

Earlier when Fulcrum had admitted that he had reached his limit, he was lying.  _ Now _ , he was at his fragging limit.

He slowly turned to Aftface until his whole frame was facing him. He took a few slow steps over to the mech, whose grin increased. He wasn’t sure if his steps were slow because he was so angry or because he was incredibly overcharged, but after what seemed an eternity, he reached his destination.

Aftface,  _ what a fitting designation _ , patted his thighs, “C’mon toots.” Fulcrum took in a large inhale, “ **Frag. Off.** ” He reared back his fist, and swung it into Aftface’s jaw with all of his strength.

Aftface fell to the floor, knocked unconscious immediately. Noise in the bar halted, and patrons turned to their table curiously. Misfire quickly scrambled up from his spot on the floor, “ _ Woah! _ ” Fulcrum grabbed a cube off of the table and began to drink in earnest. He was going to die, but he was going out overcharged. Around him, conversation in the bar had slowly started back up, but his table was as silent as the dead.

He was halfway through his drink when a scratchy voice yelled out, “Hey! You fragging punched my buddy you cog-sucker!” A mint-coloured blocky mech stomped towards Fulcrum, an angry scowl on his face plates. So much adrenaline was running through Fulcrums frame, he could barely feel his hands. 

This, combined with the enjex, made for some very bad decision making. With one final swig from the cube, Fulcrum threw it to the floor between him and the mech and bellowed out a scream at him. He was so gone that he didn’t even think to say anything, he just made a loud noise. That with the most likely crazed expression on his face was enough to stop the mech in his tracks, a wary look on his face.

Misfire, ever the opportunist, took advantage of the pause, “BAR FIGHT!” He picked up the table and threw it.

Fulcrum dove to the ground as chaos erupted around him like a shrapnel bomb. He crawled under a still standing table and paused to gather his wits. His spark was slamming against its casing like a bird in a cage. Above him, he saw Spinister pick up the mint mech and throw him into a crowd of what looked to be cadets,he then punched himself in the face. He looked around frantically, trying to find an exit route before he was squished underneath the table.

_ There!  _ To his right, there was still fighting but the bar patrons seemed to be avoiding someone lying unconscious on the floor. Fulcrum started crawling rapidly towards that person, trying to avoid getting stepped on. He got within grabbing distance when he accidentally put his hands in spilled enjex and fell down. The sound of his chin hitting the floor was muffled over the sound of twenty-something people fighting.

He got back on all fours and looked at the poor sod that was lying face down in front of him.  _ AFTFACE!  _ He made an ugly face and looked for something to hit the slagger with. He jerked back his hand from where he was trying to grab a broken chair leg as a set of pedes slammed down on it. 

Fulcrum looked up as the owner of the bar, Lucky, burnt the face plates of some unlucky mech with her alt-mode thrusters that were positioned above her hands. He prayed to Primus that she wouldn’t look down and see him and somehow know that he was the cause of all of this. Thankfully, she just high fived her conjunx and jumped back into the fray.

He almost went back to looking for a blunt-force object when he remembered Echo’s words from earlier,  _ ‘...if you get knocked out in a fight anymech’s free to pilfer your subspace and units.’  _ With his energy suddenly renewed, he shoved his hand into Aftface’s subspace and started pulling anything he could get his hands on out.

It was mostly junk and stuff useless to him, but eventually Fulcrum came across a key ring with multiple keys and key-cards. He grabbed that, just in case, and continued to go through the subspace. He came across a familiar object, and pulled out a unit stick with a slightly manic grin and promptly shoved it into his own subspace. With a condescending pat to the helm, Fulcrum speed-crawled away from Aftface.

He got to the bar, where he grabbed an unopened bottle of enjex and began to drink it. Most of it splashed on his plating, but he was overcharged and happy and didn’t have enough energy to give a frag. When the bottle was empty, he stood up and looked at his options; he could either fight his way to the door, or he could fight until the crew left. On the one hand, if he tried to leave now he would have to fight and then potentially face getting cornered outside, or he could fight with his crew until one of them either dropped or Krok decided what they would do next.

He looked at all the fighting, and spotted Misfire in the middle of it. The jet looked like he was having the time of his life, until someone grabbed onto his wing, twisted, and refused to let go. He saw Misfire’s face twist in pain, and his knees buckled as the pain most likely started crippling him. He fell down and the mech that was twisting his wing dove on him.

Fulcrum saw red.

Later, when they all stumbled out of the bar, dazed and quiet, Fulcrum took the time to look Misfire over. He looked bad, but he’d been worse. Most of his damage constituted of dents, no one in that bar had been swinging with strategy. He stumbled a bit to the left, helm pounding from the pounding it had received. There was a ridiculous amount of energon on his frame. Thankfully only a small fraction of it was his. He hissed as his mouth throbbed in pain; some slagger had punched out one of his frontal dentas. 

His fists throbbed and his frame seemed to shriek and groan with every step as dented plating rubbed against itself.  _ What the frag is wrong with my vision? Did some aft-hole punch my optics? How? I had my goggles on. Oh.  _ He slowly removed his cracked goggles from his face and let them snap back onto his helm as per usual. Like some kind of idiot.

The moment his goggles made contact with his helm, splitting pain shot through his frame (mostly his helm though) and he fell to his knees. He didn’t do much other than grunt, then whine, and then fall face first onto the ground. 

He couldn’t see anything, but he heard Krok sigh, “Leave him. We’re here anyways.” ‘Here’ was a storage unit that they had managed to track down using one of the key-cards. Through the pounding in his processor, he managed to pick up on the distinct sound of Spinister making his way over, “He’s dead!”

“He’s not dead.” “What do you think killed him?” “He isn’t dead.” “I think I can use his kibble as makeshift plating for the WAP.” The footsteps got closer and Fulcrum had just enough energy left in him to wave his arms around, “M’not dead!” He felt a hand on his back plating and wondered if this was the way he went out, but no.

“Some jerk shoved a rock in between your plating. Rude.” He let out a relieved sound that was somewhere between a sign and a moan, “Thank youuuuu.” He wiggled around on the ground. His plating couldn’t get more scuffed than it already was so he didn’t really give a damn.

He heard the sound of hydraulics and some clunking, and after a moment of silence Krok spoke up, “This looks like this is what we’re looking for. Spin take front, I’ll come Crankcase to bring the ship closer. Misfire stay here and make sure no one comes poking around.” Fulcrum heard Spinister and Krok walk into the storage unit, a second later he heard Misfire sit down next to him.

“Are… y’still ignoring… me?” The jets voice was slow and slightly slurred, either from being overcharged or from too many hits to the helm, Fulcrum didn’t know. He heard his friend let out a sad sounding noise, “Oh… okay.” Fulcrum was confused as to why Misfire was sad, but then he remembered that he hadn’t actually said anything.

“Not ignorin’ you.” He knew that his voice was slurred from the combination of overcharge  _ and  _ multiple hits to the helm, “How…’s you’re wing?” He was still lying face down on the ground, but he knew Misfire well enough to know that he was shrugging, “Hurt. Like… a seven out of ten.” 

Fulcrum nodded, but all that did was increase his helm-ache so he gave Misfire a thumbs-up instead, “I think… I might’ve disl’cted his arm.” He had thrown himself into the fray like he was feral. He’d gone in there using any advantage he had, like the panels on his arms. They’d been used as shields, but he mainly used them to bludgeon other mechs.

_ Duck. Jab. Dodge. Bash. Kick. Stomp. _

Fulcrum gave a sad wiggle, “M’sorry for ignorin’ you.” Misfire pat his helm (which hurt by the way), “It’s ok. I was-” Fulcrum cut him off, “S’not ok! Hurt you… I was jus’ frustrated. ‘N angry. But not at you. That… damn rock.” The hand on his helm retreated, “Rock? Did I throw a rock at yah?” 

“No! It was stupid. I made friends with Chunky. ‘N then you scared me and he ran away.”  _ Wait, no. He didn’t run away. He doesn’t have legs.  _ “No he didn’t. He slid away. No legs. Then I fell over on the stupid rock.” He received another helm pat, “That sucks. Rocks are stupid.”

A while later, Fulcrum wasn’t sure how long, Krok walked over to them, “Crankcase brought the WAP over. Misfire bring Fulcrum to the ship. I’ll comm you if we need you back out here to help load up.” Before Fulcrum could get up and complain at being talked about, he was scooped up by the hips. After a bit of flailing, Misfire managed to arrange it so his chest plate was pressed against Fulcrum’s.

Fulcrum struggled a bit, he didn’t appreciate being carried around like a sparkling, but his fatigue won. With a slump, he wrapped his arms around Misfire’s neck and let his helm rest against the jets shoulder, “Mrahhh.” 

“Wha’?” Fulcrum just wobbled his helm, “Blerrrrrr.” Misfire imitated the noise, which prompted Fulcrum to make another. They went back and forth like this until they reached their shared hab-suite. He hadn’t even noticed Misfire getting on the ship until now. 

He was put down on his berth, and he curled up around his pillows. Now that he was back in his nest, he was more than happy to curl up and let the pillows envelop him. He peeked open an optic to see Misfire gingerly sit down on his own berth. Fulcrum slammed his optics shut, trying to ignore the urge to do something about the look on his roommates face plates.

This lasted a few kliks, and then he was out of his berth and across the room, “Get up.” Misfire looked up at him, “Hm?” He crossed his arms and ignored the heat building up in his faceplates, “Just. Just move your berth next to mine. Who knows when the coolant will get fixed, so just… move it over here.” He moved to the end of the berth to grab it and haul it over, Misfire doing the same.

Once it was flush against his own berth. He crawled in and snuggled his pillows. After a moment Misfire joined him. He grabbed one of his pillows and shoved it against the jets chest, then tucked his helm against it. In this position, he was curled up against Misfires chest, helm tucked under his friends. Arms wrapped around him and Fulcrum felt himself smile.

END


End file.
